


Unidentifiable

by who_is_mattatatatat



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_is_mattatatatat/pseuds/who_is_mattatatatat
Summary: A poem. A short story. Whispers and screams. Softness and comfort. Indistinguishable





	Unidentifiable

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it helps shed light on a subject not even I understand.

I’ve heard  them for years upon years, since I was a child.

 

They would swarm  my room and wrap Themselves around my body.

They’d manifest in whispers in the back of my mind and shift with the breeze.

They would comfort me. They would yell at me.

They would cry with me. They would lie to me.

 

Each found themselves in the present and in the past.

Each found its way to converse.

Each manifested and disappear all at once.

They are freshly polished glass in the sun, detectable

only when you strain to see.

 

They lie to me.

 

They scream at me.

 

They persuade me.

 

I’m like an overgrown weed whos thin stem is ready to snap

when the next rush of wind comes in.

 

I’ve heard Them since I was a child.

 

They would stand in front of me hidden in plain sight.

They would lie next to me when in bed and speak in hushed

whispers till I fell asleep. They would follow me outside and

walk along my side until I was tired enough to pass out.

 

They speak constantly.

 

In hushed whispers when you have to strain your ears to

hear  only to discover you can’t understand anything that

was spoken.  In loud voices that blare over the speakers

digging into your ears,  unable to pick out. In sentences that

can be brushed away like  sand in the wind, ignored.

In hurricanes when you can hardly pick them apart, voices

layered on top of one another.

 

They’re loud.

 

They’re tiresome.

 

They’re comforting.

 

They’re permanent.

 

I’ve heard Them since I was a child. I tried to tell those

who I once trusted about Them only to be ridiculed and

smothered into silence. So They took me into Their arms

and brought me comfort once again with soft words and

promises of better tomorrows.

 

They lie.

 

They scream.

 

They whisper.

 

They comfort.

 

It hurts. It’s confusing. It’s sickening. It’s nauseating.

It’s comforting. It’s peaceful. It’s dreadful.

 

It’s undiagnosed and eating me away.

 

Slowly but surely rotting me to the core.

 

Indistinguishable.

 

Untreated.

 

Present.

 

Whispers.

 

Eventual collapsation.

 

Withering away.

 

Until the dust settles.

 

And they speak no more.


End file.
